


Long Delirious, Burning Blue

by arjache



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Sburb Session, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-09
Updated: 2014-01-05
Packaged: 2017-11-24 07:26:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/631919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arjache/pseuds/arjache
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Look at her response times. The technology they’ve incorporated into that ship is so new that they don’t even know how to automate it safely yet. It’s more manually controlled than anything else we have in the field right now, and it needs split-second accuracy. Finesse. If we’re going to test it, we need someone who’s damned near prescient.”</p><p>You look down at the dossier again. “And that someone is Lieutenant Vriska Serket.”</p><p>“In my opinion, yes.”</p><p>“God help us all.”</p><p>---</p><p>An AU in which Rose and Vriska are both test pilots. Fic in progress.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [isozyme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/isozyme/gifts).



> Another response to isozyme's Yeagerstuck request. This is just Act 1; I plan to keep adding to this going forward.
> 
> See also sunsmasher's [excellent art](http://archiveofourown.org/works/626387) on the matter.
> 
> Many thanks, as always, to my wonderful beta readers.

> ATTN: Lt. Col. Rose Lalonde
> 
> DEPT: Test Flight Center, Edwards ASFB Joint Testing Facility
> 
> RE: Request
> 
> IN ORDER TO PROCESS YOUR REQUEST FOR EARLY RETIREMENT, THE FOLLOWING INFORMATION IS REQUIRED. PLEASE FILL OUT ATTACHED FORMS AND SUBMIT TO HUMAN RESOURCES FOR REVIEW. YOUR CAREFUL ATTENTION TO DETAIL IS APPRECIATED.
> 
> NOTE: DUE TO RECENT CHANGES, PLEASE DISREGARD THE FOLLOWING FIELDS AND SUBSTITUTE FORM 1111A (ATTACHED) INSTEAD: A5.1-A5.2, U1, U2(b)…

* * *

You’ve been staring at the thick stack of papers on your desk for a good two hours when Special Civilian Director Pyrope shows up at your office door.

“Colonel! Got an assignment for you,” she exclaims, walking in and launching herself into her favorite chair without waiting to be invited in. Her ever-busy hands fiddle with the decorative head of her cane. Not for the first time, you wonder if she took the job simply because the service had a dragon for a mascot.

“You’re a bit late for that,” you say, ignoring her provocation. “You do know I’m retiring, right? I should hope so; your name is on half of these forms.”

“Forms which have been sitting untouched on your desk for hours now! You and I both know you could use the distraction. Well, I found you a distraction. A big one.”

“Now, how could you possibly know the state of my desk? For all you know I’ve been filling out paperwork all day.”

Terezi shrugs. “I can smell it.”

“I still can’t tell if you’re joking or serious when you say things like that.”

“Good. I prefer it that way. Keeps people on their toes,” she says, grinning at you. It’s a big toothy grin, the sort she usually saves for when she wants to intimidate those who don’t know her very well.

Fortunately, you do know her very well.

“So, do you want the assignment?” Terezi asks.

You sigh. “Fine, I’ll take a look.”

“Don’t act like I’m not doing you a favor,” she says, ever so sweetly, as she hands you a dossier.

You flip through it. Your eyes get wider with every page turn.

“I…wouldn’t call this a favor exactly. More like a fucking mess,” you say.

“Call it a favor for me, then,” Terezi says. Her tone is inscrutable.

You look up at her from your reading. “Are you serious?”

“I wouldn’t be bringing it to your attention if it didn’t need done.”

“Yes, but this…”

“…is right up your alley,” she says, before you can finish. “I want you to hire her. Talk her out of this self-destructive path she’s gotten herself into.”

You frown at the dossier, and then drop it on your desk, loudly, for show. “Not mine to save. She’s hopeless. Let her wash out or get court-martialed. I don’t care which.”

“Well, I do,” Terezi says, scowling at you.

“Why? What is she to you? From where I’m sitting, she’s a liability. We’ve got enough risks in this business as it is; we don’t need any more. If she keeps flying missions, she’s endangering others. The officers quoted here are right: she should be grounded, not recruited.”

“She wouldn’t be the only liability I’ve recruited over the years,” Terezi says quietly, and her words stop you cold. “Besides, we need her. When she is good, she is very, _very_ good. She’s one of the best pilots of her graduating class.”

“That alone doesn’t justify it. Not with her record.”

“No, but I’ve got something that does. Remember the X–612?”

“The project from hell,” you mutter.

“Yes, well, it must have snowed in hell, because we’re finally getting the prototype next month, and we need someone who’s got what it takes to test it.”

“And that’s her?”

“Look at her response times. The technology they’ve incorporated into that ship is so new that they don’t even know how to automate it safely yet. It’s more manually controlled than anything else we have in the field right now, and it needs split-second accuracy. Finesse. If we’re going to test it, we need someone who’s damned near prescient.”

You look down at the dossier again. “And that someone is Lieutenant Vriska Serket.”

“In my opinion, yes.”

“God help us all.”

“I’m not asking God. I’m asking you.”

“You might have better luck with the chaplain.”

“Father Makara and I haven’t been on speaking terms since the red chalk incident,” Terezi says, a wistful look on her face. She snaps back to you. “So? Are you up for it or not?”

You sigh and rub your forehead. “When do I meet her?”

“Next week. After she gets back from temporary suspension.”

“Oh, I can tell this is going to be fun already.”


	2. Chapter 2

You step out onto the tarmac at Nellis, adjusting your sunglasses. It’s blindingly bright out, the air hot and dry. Not all that different from Edwards, really.

There’s a nervous kid waiting for you there, human, with dark hair that looks like it’d be a mess if it weren’t cropped so short. He doesn’t look much more experienced than a cadet. He gives you a curt salute as you approach him.

“Welcome to Nellis, Colonel.”

“Thank you Airman…”

“English, ma’am. I’ve been asked to escort you to Col. Zahhak’s office.”

"Lead the way.

* * *

The combat training program commander is enormous and muscular. He looms over his desk. It looks tiny in comparison. You wonder how many of them he’s broken in his tenure. He’s a troll, and one of his horns is broken and jagged. Old combat injury, you assume.

“Lieutenant Colonel Lalonde,” he says as you enter, enunciating every syllable of your rank carefully in his low, rumbling basso. You’d heard rumors that Zahhak could be a bit of a stickler for rank; not a bad quality to have when running a training facility, you suppose.

“Colonel,” you nod.

He gestures at you. “Take a seat.”

You sit. The looming is more exaggerated from this angle.

Zahhak paws through the files on his desk. Not for the first time in your career, you think that the military must be the last institution left on Earth that still uses paper. You wonder if there are special military paper mills built just for that purpose.

The commander finally locates the files he was looking for, and starts to flip through them. There is a sharp pinging sound as he accidentally snaps the thick binder clips holding the papers together in half. He grimaces, and you repress the urge to laugh.

“Are you certain you want to pursue this, Colonel?” he asks you.

“I know what I’m doing, sir,” you say. This is a blatant lie on your part.

“Lt. Serket is bad news. Very bad news. She is, to put it bluntly, a curse on any organization she is a part of.”

“Then I’m sure you’ll be glad to be rid of her,” you say, your best cool smile on your face.

“That is an understatement,” he rumbles. “16 counts of insubordination. 8 counts of reckless behavior while operating a military craft. And now this most recent incident with her co-pilot…”

“I saw the write-up. I’m not here to excuse her behavior. I’m here to recruit her. There’s still use for her elsewhere. I just need to know that you’re not going to press charges in the meantime.”

“Col. Lalonde, if it were up to me she’d see her day in court. She deserves it. And, quite frankly, we owe it to this new victim of her utterly disastrous risk-taking. He deserves justice. Lt. Serket has no place in this service.”

“But?” you ask.

“But…” he says, looking discomfited. “…I’m afraid your Director Pyrope has been pulling a number of strings lately.” He sighs.

“‘All the strings,’ I believe her precise words were when briefing me.”

“ALL of them.” Zahhak booms. “Here’s the deal I’m prepared to offer you: You take her; she’s your program’s responsibility. We will suspend any formal action against her for now. But at the first sign of trouble - if she causes another incident, or washes out - she’s headed right back here, and then straight to a military court.”

You raise your eyebrows with more grim amusement than is probably warranted by the situation. “Understood, sir. Those terms work for us as well. When may I speak to her?”

“First thing tomorrow morning. We’ve scheduled you for a two-hour interview.”

“Perfect. I’ll let you know my official recommendation after that.” You stand up, and Zahhak follows suit, shaking your hand with a surprisingly light grip.

“Colonel, a word of advice before you meet with her,” Zahhak says.

“What’s that?”

“I’m sure you’re familiar, by now, with the need to check one’s boots for scorpions and the like when working in a desert environment such as this.”

“Yes?”

“Don’t leave your boots unattended around this one. She stings.”

* * *

Your young escort is waiting for you outside the program commander’s office. He is still stupid with excitement. You mean that literally; on the walk to your overnight accommodations he’s somehow managed to trip twice on seemingly invisible obstacles.

“Colonel, may I ask you a personal question?” he asks as you walk.

You inwardly groan; you’re pretty sure you know what he’s going to ask. It’s always the same thing. “You may.”

“Your name is Lalonde; would that be of the Strider-Lalondes?”

“General Lalonde is my mother, if that’s what you mean, Airman.”

He whistles slowly. “That’s quite an impressive background you’ve got, ma’am.”

“It is what it is,” you say coldly. That shuts him up for a while. But then he speaks up again.

“Ma’am, I realize this probably isn’t my place to say, but…I’m so sorry for your loss. Everyone here was so sad when they heard the news about the - about what happened to your brother.”

“We all were, Airman,” you say, sighing. “We all were.”


	3. Chapter 3

Late that afternoon finds you in your civvies at a dusty tavern on the outskirts of the base.

When you say dusty, you mean it - there are dust motes dancing in the lazy rays of sun sneaking in here and there from the few exposed window spaces. There is grit on the floor. Thick dust sits on the glass of a forlorn pinball machine. A thin, dried-up layer of grime covers the jukebox, which is currently, thankfully, silent.

You decide you like this bar.

You sit at the counter with your customary scotch and look around now that your eyes have mostly adjusted to the abrupt change from the bright exterior to the dark interior. There are very few people here; either it’s not a very popular bar, or beer o’clock is later here than you’re used to. Clattering noises come from the corner off to one side; a few people are playing pool.

There’s a lanky troll at the pool table with her back turned to you. It’s her turn right now and she is loudly making sure everyone knows it. There’s a sort of whiny bragginess to her voice. The whining stands out more than the bragging, really - there’s no shortage of the latter in your line of work. As she leans over to take her shot, you find your eyes lingering on her. She’s angular, all bony hips and sinew and muscle, and her ridiculous skinny hipster jeans only serve to emphasize that. It’s not a look you normally find yourself attracted to, but it seems to work on her.

She makes her shot. Whooping, she straightens up and does a victory lap around the table. As she turns the corner of the table, she briefly faces you, and - oh god - you recognize her now.

You cannot believe you were just admiring the ass of the person you were sent here to recruit.

You turn back to your drink and keep your eyes planted firmly on it, suddenly feeling embarrassed. Behind you, you hear the game conclude. There’s some yelling and grumbling. You’re not certain if they actually completed the game or just gave up on it after some sort of dispute.

The other players wander off and Serket slumps down next to you at the bar. She yells for another tequila sunrise, then turns and regards you.

“Hey. Hot stuff. Wanna play pool with me?” she asks, grinning and trying way too hard to sound seductive. “I’ll go easy on you.”

You cannot believe your unbeknownst-to-her recruit is now hitting on you.

“Nah,” you say nonchalantly. 

“Come oooooooon,” she cajoles you. “It’ll be fun!”

“I don’t really play pool any more.”

“Why not?”

“You know that old saying, ‘Never play cards with a man named Doc’?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, it applies doubly so to pool.”

“Sounds like someone got schooled!” she exclaims. Her grin is getting more obnoxious by the minute. “Come on, watch me play pinball instead. It’s more fun with an audience.”

You can’t really object to that, and frankly you could use the excuse to watch her in action. 

“All right,” you say, picking up your drink and following her to the pinball machine. 

The machine in question is the very epitome of decrepit. The front display panel is dying. You think it’s supposed to read “Suburban Jungle”, but most of the letters are burnt out, and now in the dark of the bar the machine simply advertises itself as “SBURB.”

“This is the worst pinball machine I have ever seen,” you say. 

“Shut up, I love this game. Here, hold my drink.”

* * *

Several drinks and eight **GREEN SUN** bonuses later, Serket is close to unlocking Felt Manor. 

“Wow, lucky shot,” you say.

“Never confuse luck with skill.”

“Oh? Which is this?"

Just then, she misses her next shot. The machine blinks and starts a random countdown to see whether she gets an extra ball or not. On the board, a clock hand starts ticking between _HEROIC_ and _JUST_.

“Ugh, I hate waiting for this part!” Serket groans, and starts pounding on the side of the machine cabinet. “Come on, hurry up!”

You guess the game doesn’t appreciate the abuse hurled at it, because it chooses that moment to glitch out. The clock hand gets stuck on _JUST_ , but the machine doesn’t seem to register it; it just keeps blinking and generally freaking out. After a few seconds, the screen resets itself and flashes **GAME OVER**.

“What?!? But I still had extra plays!” She starts kicking the machine in earnest. “Stupid game, give me my lives back!”

There are more people at the bar now, and you really don’t want to attract any more attention than you already have. 

“Hey, come on, quit making a scene. People are starting to look at us.”

She looks up at you. “Yeah? Well I’ll give ’em somethin look at,” she says, slurring her words a little. She wraps her arms around you.

“Vriska, you’re drunk.”

“I neverrr told you my name,” she says, leaning in way too close to your face. “And you never told me yours. What is it, cutie? No, wait, let me guess. The answer is riiiiiiiight on the tip of my tongue,” she giggles, and leans in to kiss you. 

Oh hell no. 

You quickly disentangle yourself from Serket, dodging her attempt at a kiss, and she loses her balance and falls into a crumpled heap at your feet. She curses, tries to pick herself up, and slips on the dusty floor made smooth from decades of use. Then she curses again.

You haul her up from the floor and drag her outside.

“Ooooooooh, I see, you just wanted us to have some privacy. I know jus’ the place…” she giggles.

You spot a group of women headed back to the base. “You there!” you say loudly, handing Serket over to them. “Take her back with you. See that she gets to her quarters.”

The airmen stir a little in confusion, but the tone of authority in your voice seems to win them over. “Yes, ma’am. Do you need any other assistance?” one of them asks. 

“I’ll be fine, thanks,” you say, turning on your heel and storming off in the other direction before they can point out you’re going the wrong way.

Tomorrow morning is going to be interesting.


	4. Chapter 4

That next morning, a visibly hungover Lt. Vriska Serket is escorted to the conference room Zahhak had arranged for you to meet her in.

As she walks into the room, flanked by her escorts, she gives almost no detectible sign that she recognizes you from last night. Almost. But you think you see her eye twitch a little.

Still, she’s good. If she displays that same sort of reaction control in a cockpit…

The other soldiers leave, closing the door behind them. You stare levelly at Vriska.

“Lieutenant. I trust you slept well,” you say coolly.

“You know, you never did tell me your name…” here she has to pause and actually look at your rank insignia. “…Colonel.”

“I’m here to make you an offer.”

“Oh, are we back to _offers_ now?,” she asks, quirking an eyebrow. “Because I never did get a firm answer on the offer I made last night.”

Good lord, is she _still_ hitting on you?

You pick up her file and read from it. “‘It is the conclusion of this investigation board that the circumstances that led up to the emergency ejection from and subsequent crash of the vessel, and to the severe injury of the co-pilot, resulting in his permanent disability, were unlikely to be due to mechanical failure. Given the pilot’s prior history of reckless behavior, this board recommends a full criminal investigation into the actions of Second Lieutenant Vri-’ are you even listening to me right now, Lieutenant?”

She looks up from examining a hangnail. “Not really. Trust me, I’ve basically got that document memorized by now. You could at least be doing funny voices or something, sheeeeeeeesh. You should hear Colonel Zahhak read it.”

You set the file back down. “Lieutenant, your career is basically over. You’ll be lucky to ever fly again. Lt. Nitram will be lucky to ever _walk_ again. Don’t you care about that at all?”

“He didn’t have what it takes,” she says, shrugging.

“And you do?”

“With all due respect: _Duh_ , ma’am.”

You regard her carefully. “How’d you like a chance to prove it?”

She rolls her eyes. “If this is one of those vintage ‘Be all you can be’ behemoth leavings they’ve been trying to bring back as a marketing gimmick, forget it, I’ve heard enough of those already.”

“Nothing that trite. It’s a much simpler test than that.”

“What’s the poiiiiiiiint? Like you said, I’ll be lucky to ever fly again. Maybe, if I’m really, reeeeeeeeally lucky, I’ll get to fly refueling missions or something lame like that!” she says, throwing her hands up for effect. “But I doubt it. So why test me? Like, what, I’m gonna be tested with a desk job? You looking for a sexy secretary to make you coffee?”

She kicks her feet up on the conference room table and leans back in her chair, waggling her eyebrows at you. You desperately want to kick the chair out from under her. “Nuh uh,” she continues. “Count me out of your sick, twisted fantasies. I’d rather go down in flames.”

“If things go right for you, you may yet have that chance,” you mutter.

She looks at you in confusion.

“To go down in flames. Not the…sexy coffee…part,” you say, gritting your teeth.

She grins. “So you’re saying I’m hot.”

Oh for fuck’s sake - wait, no, an idea is forming in your head.

“You know what?” you say, “I’ve got a better idea. Meet me back here in thirty minutes. I need to go make some arrangements.”

You start to walk out of the room, then stop at the door and turn back to her.

“Oh, and Serket?”

“Yeah?”

“Go make yourself some coffee. You’re a hungover mess.”

* * *

The GH–413 Ornithopter is a simple enough craft by the standards of the day. It is reliable. It is versatile. It’s the workhorse of the fleet.

All of this is a polite way of saying _boring_. 

What’s most apparent about the ornithopter at first glance are the wings: it sports a retractable, lockable, and most importantly _flappable_ wing design with multiple degrees of freedom, making it look vaguely like a large and ungainly metallic beetle.

A closer inspection would reveal a small star drive for additional thrust, lift, and stability. If a pilot were sufficiently motivated, she could lock in the wings and go sub-orbital. More realistically, though, the GH–413’s maneuverability and vertical takeoff capability mean that it is mostly used for short, low-altitude, ground-to-ground hops.

All of which lead to the obvious nickname:

“ _This_ is what you wanted to show me? A dinky little Grasshopper? It’s the most boring thing here! Which is saying something, because you’re standing right next to it!”

“Sorry to disappoint,” you say. “Maybe next time I’ll have it decked out with some bling.”

Vriska huffs. “So, what, now we admire it?”

“No, now you do your preflight.” You toss her a tool pouch. “Get a move on. I want to see you fly this thing.”

* * *

You have to admit, Vriska Serket is an excellent pilot. And she’s in a much better mood now that she’s back in the air. She almost seems…calm.

“So who do you work for, really?” Vriska asks, yelling to be heard over the noise of the aircraft. She sneaks a brief look at you; you’ve taken the co-pilot spot next to her.

“I’m a test pilot. We work out of Edwards.”

“That’s pretty cool!” she says. You take a mental snapshot of what you assume is a rare occasion: _Got genuine compliment from Vriska._ “Not as cool as combat, but pretty cool. So what, you test new spacecraft?”

“Air too, actually. We still do rather more atmospheric testing than you might expect.”

“Aw man, that’s lame! Why would you do a thing like that?”

“Why not?” you ask.

“Because air operations are booooooooring! Space is where it’s at. What’s the fun in this?”

Ah, there’s the opportunity you were waiting for.

Without a word, you start flipping safety switches. The ornithopter shudders.

“What the…what did you just do?”

“I just disabled your inertial stabilizers.”

“What?!? Why the hell’d you do that?” she yells at you, struggling with the controls. The jostling is getting pretty bad.

Instead of answering her directly, you flip another switch. Your stomach flutters as the craft starts to sink lower with every shake. _Still in control_ , you reassure yourself. You’re not in a spin yet, and you won’t let it get that far - you’ll take the controls if you have to.

But you’d rather see what Vriska does.

“That was the anti-grav assist, by the way,” you note cheerfully.

“ARE YOU CRAZY?” she screams at you over the whine of the engines.

You shrug. “Are you?”

She stares at you for a few precious seconds. You stare back.

“Right,” she says, locks the wings into a fixed configuration, and then dips the ornithopter into a dive. You gain speed and start to stabilize; she pulls up soon afterwards as the lift on the wings starts to reassert itself. Bernoulli would be proud.

Once you’re gliding stably, Vriska kicks in the jets and then exhales slowly. You start to regain altitude, and she turns to glare at you. You start talking before she can start in with the tirade you see building behind her eyes.

“Vacuum makes pilots lazy. That thing that knocked you around just now? That was _air_. Don’t mock it.”

The anger in Vriska’s eyes starts to give way to to curiosity. “Come work with me. I’ll show you real fun - faster, more maneuverable, more _dangerous_ machines than anyone has ever flown before,” you continue. “Or stay here and fly refueling missions. Assuming you don’t end up discharged or in prison first. The choice is yours.” You look out the canopy at the landscape below. “Take us back to the base. We’re done here.”

* * *

You’d figured that would be the end of your discussion, but after you land and start walking back to the base, Vriska breaks the silence to ask you one more thing.

“So that was it, that was the simple test you were talking about? To prove I had what it takes?”

“No, that was just a really good recruiting video. The real test is this: You go up in the air, day after day, pushing the envelope of what’s possible with manned flight. And then, if you pass, you get to do the whole thing over again the next day.”

“And if you fail, then what? You wash out, go back to ground work?” she asks, wearing her best serious face.

“Oh, no,” you laugh. “If you fail, you die.”

That stops Vriska, and you keep walking towards Zahhak’s office, still chuckling out loud and suddenly very grateful for the aviator shades hiding the tears in your eyes right now.

“Three days!” you turn to yell back at her. “If you think you’ve got what it takes, meet me at Edwards in three days!”

You hope she doesn’t show. You don’t think you could live with another death on your conscience.


	5. Chapter 5

Three days later, a lazy summer sunset finds you sitting in Terezi’s office. 

“You know,” she begins, “I am beginning to suspect she bailed on us.” 

“Did Col. Zahhak say anything to you when he approved the transfer?” you ask. 

“Just two words.” 

“Let me guess: ‘Good riddance.’” 

“Nothing so _cruuuude_!” Terezi says, drawing out the U sound to imitate Zahhak’s speech patterns. “You know how he is.” 

“What, then?” 

“‘Good luck.’” 

“Oh, that’s even worse,” you groan. “I’m impressed.” 

An old-fashioned clock on Terezi’s desk chimes out the time, and the two of you sit and listen to it. 

_One, two, three, four…_

Terezi sighs. 

_…five, six, seven, eight._

“I was so sure about this one,” she says, and then claps her hands. “Well! I could use a drink. Would you care to join me?” 

“In a little while. I’m going to go get some air.” 

“Fair enough,” she says, standing up and pulling out her cane. 

The two of you step out of the office and head down the hallway. Before you turn your separate ways, you say, quietly, “She’ll show. Sooner or later.” 

“And what makes you so sure?” 

“Because,” you say, turning the corner. “Otherwise, she’d be letting me win.” 

The sound of Terezi’s laughter follows you down the corridor. 

* * *

The sun is just below the horizon when you step out of the building. You walk aimlessly; listening to insect sounds. Here in the desert it gets chilly soon after dark, and as it grows darker the heat leeches away from you until you’re shivering. You know you should zip up your jacket, but you can’t bring yourself to do so just yet. Your hands linger near the zipper pull, and your mind wanders. 

_“Race you to the top!” Dave shouts as the two of you step outside, and off you go. It’s only the week before your mutual 10th birthday, but the weather is already quite cold. There’s fresh snow today, and it’s blindingly bright now that the sun is out. Neither of you are wearing your winter clothing, and you feel the cold slam into you as you sprint towards a hill in the distance._

_You don’t remember how the game got started. The rules were as simple as they were reckless: Whoever made it the longest running around in the snow without putting on their coat won._

_This time, Dave makes it to the top of the hill first; and he crows and struts while you catch up with him. He drops his coat on the ground instead of putting it on and dances a little jig around it._

_You reach the top and start shivering almost immediately; the run was the only thing keeping you warm. You pull on your coat and start zipping it up while you catch your breath, and wait for Dave to do the same, but for some reason he doesn’t._

_“You won,” you say. “Is that what you were waiting to hear?”_

_“Nah, says Dave. ”I mean, yes, but I think I’m gonna keep doin’ my little victory lap here. Just to rub in the sheer magnitude of my awesomeness."_

_“Oh, you’re certainly conveying the sheer magnitude of something, all right.”_

_“You’re just jealous.”_

_“Whatever,” you say, and wander off to explore a particularly inviting snow drift. But after a while you notice Dave still hasn’t joined you, and so you backtrack to find him…_

The sound of a car approaching jolts you out of your memories, and you hurriedly zip up your jacket and watch the car approach. You’re near the entrance to the base now, and you expect the car to turn and head towards the gates, but instead it just speeds off past them. 

As you watch it go, taillights growing dimmer in the distance, you feel a twinge of disappointment. Despite all your misgivings, on some level, you really were hoping it was Vriska. 

Stupid. You don’t know why you got your hopes up in the first place. 

What you really should do is go get that drink with Terezi, finish and turn in your retirement papers in the morning, and then count yourself lucky if you never meet yet another immature, reckless pilot again. 

You turn around and start walking back. You can hear the whine of another vehicle. You decide to ignore it this time. But the sound of tires on gravel keeps getting louder…and what is that, a motorcycle engine? 

You start to turn again, but before you do, Vriska rolls past you on a cherry-red motorcycle sporting some incredibly illegal-looking add-on rocket jets. 

“Hey, hot stuff! You miss me?” she yells, and then speeds off, cackling, before you can respond to her. 

_Damnit._


	6. Chapter 6

“I still don’t understand why they call it _Human_ Resources.” 

It’s the next day, and you’ve just finished taking Vriska to complete round one of her paperwork. You’d hoped Terezi could handle this part, but at the last minute she was called away to an unexpected meeting, promising to catch up with you later. 

“Yeah,” you say, wincing a little, “that’s a pretty unfortunate relic. Technically it’s the Personnel Department, but they still haven’t managed to flush the old term out of all their forms and cover letters yet.” 

You look down at your notes. “Okay, I think medical wanted to see you next, make sure all your records are up to date. That’s this way.” 

As the two of you walk down the hallway, the you pass the dining facility mainly used by civilian contractors, and as you do you spot a couple of familiar faces. 

Or rather, one of them spots you, and starts to enthusiastically wave you down. You shrug and wander over to greet her. Vriska follows behind you, a bit more slowly. You assume that if you turned and looked back at her at this moment, the expression on her face would be one carefully calibrated to communicate a supreme lack of interest. 

“Colonel! Want to join us for lunch?” Jade asks, beaming. You can’t help but smile back, just a little. 

“Ah, not today, I’m afraid - we’re needed elsewhere,” you say, “but perhaps a brief introduction is in order. This is Lt. Serket, our newest test pilot.” 

“Nice to meet you!” Jade says, jumping up from the table and shaking Vriska’s hand vigorously. Vriska looks a little alarmed. “Call me Jade.” 

“Vriska.” 

“Dr. Harley leads our science department,” you add. 

“Yup!” Jade says, nodding and still shaking Vriska’s hand, as if she’d forgotten she was doing so. “Currently just wrapping up some work on the Casimir effect. Then I’m off to McMurdo for a bit - there’s something funny going on there that they want me to look at - but I should be back next month.” 

“That’s a hell of a temperature shift right there,” Vriska says. You think she might actually be…impressed? Huh. 

“It is, but Antarctica is so exciting! I think I can brave a little snow and ice for science’s sake.” 

Vriska shrugs, and the air of disinterest slides over her face again like a mask. “If you say so.” 

Jade not-so-gently nudges her tablemate, who is still sitting down, his head buried in a technical manual. He looks up. “Hmm?” 

“Sollux, Vriska. Vriska, Sollux.” 

“Charmed, I’m sure,” he says, standing up halfway to shake hands with Vriska. “So you’re the one who’s going to find all the bugs in my code.” 

Jade giggles. “He’s joking. Sollux here is a civilian, like me. He works on our avionics software - which we really do test thoroughly before letting it anywhere near an actual plane, I assure you.” 

“There’s always one or two bugs that find their way through testing,” he murmurs, going back to his reference material. Jade kicks his ankle. “What?” 

“Avionics. Huh. Really?” Vriska chimes in. 

“Code’s not going to write itself,” Sollux responds, still not looking back up. 

“Funny, I guess I took you for more of an engineer.” 

“I am an engineer,” he says, adjusting his glasses. 

“Yeah, but like…working with the engines.” 

This time, Sollux does look back up. There’s tension in the air. Or rather…static electricity? 

“And just what is that supposed to mean?” 

“Nothing! Sheeeesh.” Vriska says, waving her arms. “Quit freaking out already.” 

You have no idea what this is all about, but you can tell a microaggression when you see one. 

“Right. Well. We should be getting moving again. Busy schedule for new hires and all,” you say. “Dr. Harley, Mr. Captor, a pleasure as always.” 

Jade waves, and you stroll briskly out of the room. You glare daggers at Vriska once you’re out of sight. 

“What?” 

“Would you mind explaining to me what just happened there?” 

“I dunno. Dude seemed annoyed, what?” Vriska says. She keeps walking. 

You resist the urge to sigh loudly. “Never mind,” you say, privately resolving to bring up the matter with Terezi later. If you’re going to call Vriska out on her shit, you’d rather first know what sort of manure she’s shoveling. “But we _will_ talk about it. Later. In the meantime, let’s get you to your next appointment.” 


	7. Chapter 7

You’re very close to spelling out a particularly inappropriate word on the laser dart board when Vriska huffs her way into your office. 

“Lieutenant,” you say, not bothering to turn your head to greet her as you continue to line up your next shot. “Checked out on all the equipment yet?” 

“Most of them. Why do I even need to though? You already know I can fly them. I figured I’d be testing out the good stuff by now!” she whines. 

“Show me the list,” you say, and nail another dot on the board. Good. One more letter to go. 

Vriska grumbles and pulls out a crumpled-up piece of paper out of one of her pockets. You raise an eyebrow as you unfold it and carefully smooth it out. 

“I fucking hate paper,” she says. 

“I can see that,” you reply, reading over the list. “Ever flown a Sunsetter?” 

“What, one of the huge retrofitted fleet ships from the war?” 

“You’re thinking of Sunslammers. Sunsetters are tiny. Single occupant fighter craft, mixed-environment. Just as old a design, though.” 

“They still make them?” 

“If by ‘they’ you mean the aerospace contractors, no. ‘They’ don’t. But we do. We do our own small fab runs here and there. It’s still a useful design, and an easy enough one to 3d print once you adapt some of the materials.” 

“More museum pieces. You sure do love your old tech here, for being a test flight center,” Vriska says, rolling her eyes ever so slightly. 

“How do you know what to build next if you don’t know what’s already been built?” you ask. “Anyway, we happen to have a few and I thought you’d appreciate a break. But if you’d rather finish checking out on the cargo runners…” 

“Oh hell no.” 

“Then suit up.” 

* * *

You keep the radio chatter to a minimum as the two of you take off, each in your own craft. Vriska follows you as you gain altitude and make your way to the little chunk of airspace you’ve reserved for this afternoon’s ride. 

The radio crackles. “Wait a minute. This is the acrobatics space.” 

“Thought you’d get a better feel for how they handle this way,” you reply. “Oh, by the way, Lieutenant?” 

“Yes?” Vriska radios back. 

You break formation then, hard, veering away from her and tilting downwards to gain a bit of speed. 

“Tag. You’re it.” 

And then you’re chasing each other through the air with gleeful abandon. 

She’s tilting back and forth around you, tracing a sine wave against your straight line. You slow down and let her speed past you, and she corkscrews her way across the sky, breaks off, comes back towards you in a big sweeping arc. You turn your own craft to match hers, halfway through her arc and technically pointed in the opposite direction, but that’s ground think, you’re facing her by the rule of the circumference of the circle you’re moving along, the two of you both orbiting a common point, and for the moment, that is the only perspective that matters. 

She peels away, and you chase her, still turning, but now you’re orbiting her, or perhaps she’s orbiting you; two interlocking circles. You approach, retreat, approach again, sweeping back and forth in an elaborate tango. 

You turn and she follows and then she’s right there next to you, locked to your position, flying in perfect alignment. Close enough that you’re bouncing off of each other’s airflow, close enough that you can look over and see her face to face, and then she gives you this _look_ , a look that up until this moment you would have found inscrutable, but something clicks, everything that is your understanding of Second Lieutenant Vriska Serket aligns and locks together just like your two crafts are currently, and you grin at her in disbelief and joy as the two of you, in unison, start to tilt up for the opening run of a zero g pushover. 

As you scream up the steep curve of your run, you reach over to a side console and, remembering your training days, flick off the inertial stabilizers, so that you can really feel yourself pushed down into your seat. You’re not just operating a craft, you’re _flying_ , damnit, this is what separates the real pilots from the drone operators and you want to be able to _feel_ it, want the rush of what’s coming up next, want to feel it in your bones and stomach and every single nerve ending. 

A second later, an small indicator pops up on your HUD; Vriska has just turned off her own inertials. Good. You would have been surprised if she hadn’t. 

As you approach the high point of your curve you back off the thrust slowly, and tilt the nose forward, until everything balances out just right and you’re practically in freefall. You’ve been in proper microgravity before, in space fighters too small for grav-plating, and you know that technically the zero g you are experiencing now is indistinguishable in terms of the physics, but Einstein be damned, you like this better. You want the rollercoaster rush as you dip down, the negative Gs as you approach the bottom of the curve, the feeling as you pull the nose back up and level out and acceleration shoves you back in your seat again. 

You reach the top of the parabola, hanging there for a moment of serenity, a peace only marred by the excitement of what was to come next, and then you dip down and you’re screaming back down the other end of the curve. 

You break off after that, heading back to base, and she follows, the two of you spinning around each other in a perfect double helix as you slowly flutter back down towards the surface. 

By the time you land you are so completely buzzed on adrenaline that you stumble a little as you hop out of the craft. The ground crew has yet to arrive, but Vriska’s there already, waiting for you a little impatiently and looking ridiculously pleased with herself. Momentary concern flashes across her face when she sees you stumble; she steps forward and catches you, sets you gently back against the cockpit doors. 

You lean there, catching your breath and staring up at her, framed against the glittering desert sun, and wondering how you never noticed just how much taller than you she was, and then the light shifts as she leans down and kisses you, quickly and a little more timidly than you’d expected of her, but with a shocking hunger behind it. 

And then, just as abruptly, and without saying a word, she pulls back and strolls off towards the base, whistling smugly to herself. 


	8. Chapter 8

You’re in the co-pilot seat of a Grasshopper, absent-mindedly watching the scrubby, desolate-looking land pass by below you while you wonder if Terezi is intentionally kicking the back of your seat, when you hear Vriska make a quiet, indignant huffing noise next to you. 

You turn to watch her for a while. She looks perfectly comfortable piloting the hopper, just…bored. You don’t think you’ve ever seen a pilot _slouch_ over the controls quite like Vriska. 

“Bored, Lieutenant?” you ask. 

“Just wasn’t expecting my first real assignment to be flying some equipment and supplies to a research outpost,” Vriska says. “Ma’am,” she adds, presumably in deference to Terezi being present. 

“The X–612 delivery’s running late again,” Terezi says. “I was hoping to have you testing it by now. Anyway, this way I get to watch you in action _and_ do my monthly rounds at the same time.” 

“Just my luck,” Vriska mutters. “Also, is it just me or is the guy running that facility a total creep?” 

“He gives that ‘excellent host’ spiel to everyone the first time they visit. Just be glad he didn’t offer you any licorice scottie dogs.” 

Just then, every single warning indicator in the cabin goes off at once. All of them. Including the ones that, by all rights, should be mutually exclusive. 

“Uh,” you say. 

Vriska is frantically flipping switches and jabbing at touchpads. “Nothing’s responding.” The craft starts shuddering. “That’s probably not good either.” 

“Flip to manual. I’ll get on the radio,” you say, tapping on your headset and waiting for it to click into a live channel. Nothing. You try again, then reach down for the corded backup. 

“Don’t bother. The entire radio circuit is down,” Vriska mutters. “Find me a landing site. I don’t think I can keep us up for much longer.” The craft shudders again, and Vriska moves to lock the wings into their fixed configuration. “Uh. That’s interesting.” 

“They’re not locking?” 

“The lever isn’t. Feels like the hydraulics still have pressure though.” 

You grab the lever and hold it in place with both hands. “Let’s hope you’re right. There’s a nice clear patch over there, two o’clock, about a klick away. Think you can manage that glide slope?” 

“Assuming I lose enough airspeed in the turn, yeah.” 

You’re very close but not quite there yet when the wings give out and the lever snaps back. There’s a crack of bone, a sharp shooting pain in your wrist, searing pain in the palm of your other hand. And then, with a thump, you pass out. 

* * *

When you come to you’re a few meters away from the hopper. It’s mostly intact; a bit scraped up but doesn’t appear to be in any danger of exploding or catching on fire. Terezi emerges from it and drags an unconscious Vriska with her. 

Terezi sets Vriska next to you, huffing with exertion. 

“How is she?” you ask. 

“Oh good, you’re up,” Terezi replies. “I don’t know. Her pulse is kind of thready.” 

You spend a few minutes trying to rouse Vriska, to no effect. Or rather, Terezi tries. You try to sit up but immediately flinch in pain. 

“I think my wrist is broken,” you groan. 

Terezi sniffs. “You’re also bleeding.” 

“What? Oh hell, I am.” You examine the wound closely. Looks like you sliced your hand open on something sharp. You move your fingers experimentally, and wince. “No nerve damage but it hurts like hell. You didn’t happen to bring the first aid kit with you, did you?” 

“Let me go and get it.” Terezi walks off. You sit there and try to gather your wits. You stare at the hopper. Most of the systems that failed were independent from each other. No way they’d all fail at once… 

Terezi comes back with the kit and starts bandaging your hand. 

“I heard the computer rebooting when I was in there,” she says. “Most of the lights smelled green. Hopefully nothing’s burnt out. We should try to get on the radio, get help out here. How does the exterior look?” 

“Dinged up.” 

“Is that the technical term?” Terezi asks, grinning. She sets the bandages down and starts examining your other hand. “Give me details.” 

“Well, okay, the wings are okay, I don’t see any hydraulic fluid but I’m assuming you would have noticed that, I - OW FUCK,” you yell as Terezi sets and splints your broken hand. 

“Yeah, figured you’d want to be distracted for that part. All done,” she says. “Now let’s go try that radio.” 

* * *

“How the hell are all the radios burnt out?” you ask. 

“Don’t know,” Terezi replies. “How’s the emergency transponder?” 

“Not sure. It seems confused, but it might still be transmitting.” 

“That’s not the firm answer I was hoping for,” Terezi says, frowning. 

“Most of the other systems check out. But look at these sensor readouts from right before everything froze up. Chronoton spike, graviton flux…and I’m no astrophysicist, but I think this band here indicates Hawking radiation.” 

“What, a _black hole_ opened up?” Terezi asks incredulously. 

“Maybe a really tiny one. Or a wormhole.” 

“Could it be a problem with the star drive?” 

“No, that system remained inactive the entire time. Which means whatever it was, was external…so unless it happens again, the hopper is probably fine. I wouldn’t want to take her out of the atmosphere, but she’s air-worthy, at least.” 

Terezi stands up and dusts her palms off on her pants. “Well! There’s only one option, then,” she says. “I’ve got to fly us back to the base.” 

You boggle at her. She scrunches up her face at your continued silence. “What?” she asks. 

“Terezi, I hate to break this to you…but you’re blind,” you say. 

“I also have a private pilot’s license, instrument rating only. Not for this class of craft, obviously, but I think we can look past that for now. Just pretend we’re flying in a heavy fog,” she replies, grinning. 

“What? Seriously?” 

“Like you’ve never flown blind before? Surely it hasn’t been so long that you’ve forgotten the part of your IFR training where they opaqued the canopy. Besides, what else can we do? We can’t call for help, you’re in no state to fly, and Vriska needs medical attention now - we can’t just wait around here for a search and rescue crew.” 

You look at Terezi, and then back at Vriska. She looks strangely serene in her unconscious state. It occurs to you that this is probably the calmest - not to mention least offensive - you’ll ever see her, and you sigh out loud at that before you can catch yourself. 

“You’re right,” you say. It’s true, but you’re also hoping Terezi will take it as the reason for your sigh. “What the hell; at least we’ll get a good story out of it.” 

“Ah, the universal currency of pilots,” Terezi says, smiling. “Come on. Let’s get Vriska in and secured.” 

* * *

You’re helping Terezi with the preflight when you hear her mutter “uh oh.” 

You duck your head into the nearest open hatch. “‘Uh oh’?” 

“Uh oh,” she repeats, sounding truly tired for the first time today. “The instruments are probably fine - which is good, since I was kind of banking on needing those to fly - but the voice readout system is having…issues.” She unplugs her headphones. “Take a listen.” 

You do so. The computer voice keeps stuttering, dropping out randomly, omitting information mid-sentence. There’s some static around the edges too. 

You consider trying to fly through the pain, but quickly decide this is the wrong idea. That is the sort of idea that gets pilots into trouble, and then into the sort of stories traded at the bar for years afterwards. It’s the sort of idea that is often right only by virtue of being the only option available, but in this case you actually do probably have other options. 

“Well, you’re the pilot,” you say to Terezi. “What do you suggest?” 

There’s a little quirk near the edge of her mouth - is that relief? Pride? - that quickly vanishes as she thinks through the problem. “Could you do the readouts? The haptics are all working fine, so I can handle the controls, but I need to be able to hear the sensor data without constantly fighting the computer.” 

“Can do.” 

* * *

You take off shortly after that, without further incident. You calmly read out the numbers as Terezi makes course corrections. It’s a surprisingly good way to take your mind off the pain. Terezi turns out to be quite the pilot, too. You’re impressed. 

You’re so focused on the numbers as a means of blocking out pain that you go a while without looking outside the cockpit, until one of the radar systems starts beeping at you. 

“Uh, Terezi?” 

“Yes?” 

“Do you recall if our IFF transponder was also burnt out?” 

“Why do you ask?” 

“We’ve got an escort,” you say. The fighter craft pulls up close enough that you can see the pilot. It’s one of the airmen from the base. You wave, wondering if they can see you. They wave back. 

“And?” Terezi asks. 

“I’ve established visual contact. I think we’re okay.” 

“Good,” Terezi replies. “I’d hate to have my perfect flying record marred by being shot down en route to my own air base.”


End file.
